


We Are Monsters

by mandysimo13



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Relationships, M/M, Nightmares, Tumblr Exchange, Will''s POV, as much fluff as these two get, canon violence, dreamscape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:06:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5530418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandysimo13/pseuds/mandysimo13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will dreams of the night he and Hannibal slayed The Dragon over and over again. He dreams of the fall and how the waves nearly killed them. But Hannibal is always there to drag him from the pull of dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are Monsters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notoriousfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notoriousfish/gifts).



Blood. The dreams always start with blood.

Hovering in the ether above his body Will watches, time and time again, as The Red Dragon that consumed Francis Dolarhyde attacks them each in turn. First Hannibal is shot and dropped to the floor under the shocked weight of his pained body. Then The Dragon slams the blade into his face. He’s being dragged through the broken window to the courtyard where he will stab and be stabbed repeatedly. Hannibal reappears, throwing The Dragon off target, distracting him to give Will a chance to recover. Will takes the blade from his shoulder and drives it deep into The Dragon’s back, disrupting the clean order of the soft tissues and rivers of blood that hover beneath the surface. Then he’s being flung powerfully back, The Dragon’s fist hitting home onto the gash on his face. Hannibal takes up the axe and tries to sever the strings that control The Dragon’s legs.

And then the pause.

The moment when all three men shamble themselves to a semi-erect position, gathering strength for what they all know will be the final round. Hannibal and Will’s eyes meet. They always find each other, it’s inevitable. They meet and together they silently agree on what’s to be done.

And then Will feels himself dragged back to his body. And the phantom pains begin. This is how it always goes. Everything, up to this moment, is always observed secondhand. Witnessed and never felt. But every time the dream comes, and it comes often enough, it is that moment of mutual, silent alliance that drives Will back into his body and he feels everything all over again. He can feel acutely the open wound in his face. That is the one that hurts the most. The one that dislodged one of his teeth and the bone beneath the skin is scraped and extremely tender from the metal grazing the inside of his face. The slashes and punctures in his torso pulse with adrenaline and a hum of pain that’s ready to scream once the immediate danger is over. His hand grips tight the knife in his hand, ready to finish his imprecise surgery to release Francis Dolarhyde from The Dragon’s hold.

He feels it all.

And then his legs propel him forward and he hears the sick sound of flesh tearing and blood spilling as he drags the blade across The Dragon’s stomach. He hears the grunting of Hannibal and The Dragon when Hannibal leaps atop his back, pulling his head back and then the gurgling sound of The Dragon’s last breaths.

Exhausted and shivering with the excitement of battle, Hannibal and Will watch as The Dragon falls. His blood on the stones beneath his body pours out and shapes for him the wings that should have graced Francis’s body. When he is finally still then, only then, does Will allow himself to examine the blood on his hand. He has killed before, it is true. But the act had always been one step closer to catching the other half of himself, the act of a petulant child trying desperately not to see the truth in front of him. He tried to ignore the thrill of puzzling out crimes that deeply disturbed him and the satisfaction in posing bodies like Barbies to make a beacon of artwork made to ensnare Hannibal's heart and mind. It was undeniable, had been for far too long, the mirror image he found of himself in Hannibal. Where Will wanted to protect Hannibal wanted to experiment, destroy. Where Will had before seen light Hannibal found a way to twist the view into shadow. By that same token where Hannibal wanted to make art Will saw fit to observe and study, become fascinated. Where Hannibal would let events unfold with a scientific eye Will would bring a touch of flesh and blood realism. Where Hannibal had found comfort in hedonism Will dragged him to empathy, in a way.

They had irreparably had changed each other. Brick by brick, cell by cell they had molded each other into a very different sort of monster. A monster with two heads, two hearts, two ideologies constantly at war but content with the path of their circumstances. They became unrecognizable to themselves but immediately identifiable to each other.

When Will watched the moonlight glint off the inky black river of The Dragon’s blood dripping from his fingertips he finally understood. He understood the beauty in the violence that Hannibal performed. In that moment, when Will had lived this moment in the flesh, he had seen every horrific act that he had known Hannibal to have done. And he saw beauty. He could see the macabre magnificence of it all. He realized then that they could not let each other live on apart from each other. They were one now. Will now had two options: walk away with the knowledge that he had become as monstrous, as beautiful, as Hannibal had intended all along or to remove them both from existence and save the remaining shreds of his conscience and principles. He wanted to live. Oh, how he wanted to live despite life's unkindness, its cruelty. He wanted Hannibal, too, no matter the consequences for himself or the world. But the thought that they both might live in peace on even footing with each other seemed an impossible ending. Then he thought of the cliff and a solution presented itself.

All this, in the span of a few seconds. He knew what he had to do.

He lifted his head and found Hannibal standing over him. Credit where credit is due. “It really does look black in the moonlight.”

He held out his hand in a silent plea for Hannibal to help him stand. Ever obliging when the mood struck, Hannibal extended his arm and grasped him firmly and hauled him to his feet. In his dreams Will remembers the solidness of Hannibal, though he knows his monster was weak. He remembers the tenderness within Hannibal’s arms, his gentle hands holding him up as Will shivered with pain and revelation. And sadness. There was that too. With them there always was.

“See?” Hannibal uttered the phrase that had haunted him for years. _See?_ In Hannibal’s face he saw a flicker of Garret Jacob Hobbs. _See?_ He saw. He saw so much. “This is all I ever wanted for you, Will.” His labored breathing filled the space between them. Then he added, with a touch of mournful hope, “for both of us.” He heard the hope. The fondness. The regret, as surprising as it was. Despite himself Will felt himself smile.

A ghost of a laugh passed his lips and he said, “it’s beautiful.”

Will had never spoken truer words. He meant everything he ever said and yet, what felt like his last words to Hannibal, perhaps to anyone, held all the truth he possessed. Hannibal looked at him with such affection, such open love that Will could not help himself. He chose to be weak.

For one moment in his life he chose to be weak and choose what he really wanted. Hannibal.

Gripping the bloodied fabric of Hannibal’s shirt, Will pulled Hannibal the few inches that remained between them and melted against him. Hannibal sagged in his arms and let out a sigh of relief. They held each other close breathing out every unspoken word, all the hatred and the love, and collecting their calm. He felt Hannibal’s breaths against his cheek, his steady heartbeat against his chest, his arms around him and his hand caressing him.

And then, with every last ounce of strength of both and body and mind he had, Will pushed them over the edge and into the water. 

That is where the fear begins. Not of death but the fear of the unknown.

The fall and the water would determine their fate. If one of them lived then the fallen would be rid of their sins against each other and the bitter, heartsick victor would rise to a life alone in the world. If they both died then all was still forgiven, all debts paid, and the world would be rid of them and far better off. But if they both lived then the water would grant them a new start. Cleansed of their sins against each other they would be born from the waves with a clean slate and a new world of possibilities. Together.

The fall seemed to take forever and yet it was no more than a few seconds. In the few precious moments of consciousness that Will had left he marveled at how time could play tricks and stretch seconds into eternity. He wondered how free-fall could feel so solid, though that may have been Hannibal’s body beneath him. And lastly, he felt his heart soar as Hannibal brushed a kiss against his lips, brief and final, and whispered, “we are forgiven.”

They understood each other. Deep down they always did.

The water rose up to meet them and then Will woke up drenched in sweat.

Will gulped in air, his body remembering what is was to drown. His body shook and he forced himself to close his eyes and grip the sheets and not his chest. He forced breaths in and out in a regular, regimented pattern. A hand reached out to caress his cheek and his eyes snapped open.

“Will,” Hannibal’s concerned voice whispered beside him. “Will, come back to me.” The gentle tone always knocked Will off guard. It shook him to the core and yet it grounded him like the roots of a sturdy tree. He flicked his eyes to Hannibal and focused on his face and the pattern of his calming breaths. “The past is just a dream, Will. Let it go,” he gently coaxed.

Will swallowed though his mouth was dry and let out a shuddering breath. “Easier said than done,” Will panted softly.

Hannibal smiled a small smile. “I know that all too well.” Hannibal’s hand remained on his cheek, a warm, soft anchor. Will leaned into it and Hannibal’s smile grew. “Was it the water again?”

Will nodded. “Always the water.” He didn’t want to think of the icy cold ocean that swallowed them. He didn’t want to remember the choking pressure as he nearly drowned. He didn’t want to think of the fuzzy halo of lights he saw when his life bled into the water around them. As far as he was concerned his life ended with the fall and began again when Hannibal woke him on the small beach a mile from Hannibal’s “safe house”.

“You should thank the water,” Hannibal said thoughtfully, running a thumb across the scar that graced Will’s face. Six months later it still was a touch tender, the nerves refusing to calm and knit together fully and leave him in peace. “Like Aphrodite, we were born from the water. Cleansed of all our sins, free from the past, and launched into a life of possibility.”

Will covered Hannibal’s hand with his own and he pressed a kiss to the side of his lover’s hand. “The water didn’t have to spit us out,” Will replied. “I will not thank the gods or nature or even you for pulling us out that night.” He smiled at Hannibal, “no matter how thankful I am to be living I will thank no one for it. No one benefits from us living.”

Hannibal clicked his tongue, chiding him. “You pain me, Will. Do I matter so little to you? Do you think your death would hold no pain for me.”

Will chuckled. “You killed me once, as you must recall.” He shifted closer to Hannibal, wrapping his arms around his middle. “Even if it didn’t stick.”

“And I mourned you,” Hannibal said truthfully. “And I would do it again if I outlived you.” Hannibal pressed a gentle kiss to Will’s sweaty curls. “Will you mourn my passing?”

Will looked into Hannibal’s eyes and put as much sincerity as he could muster into his words. “I would mourn you every minute of my short life after you.” He placed a palm against the strong beat of Hannibal’s heart. “We are opposite sides of the same coin, Hannibal. We can no longer live without each other.” He let his sentiment sink in along with all the unspoken promises his words did not say.

Hannibal nodded minutely and kissed him full on the lips, pressing firmly into his mouth and proving his presence. “I’m glad you finally understood that. It took you long enough.”

 _See? See?_ Garrett Jacob Hobbs’ voice whispered in his head. Then Abigail, their almost daughter, her soft voice filtered through his mind. _See?_ “I see it Hannibal.” He kissed him in return, carding fingers through his hair. “I see it all.” Hannibal rolled onto his back and Will moved with him to lay sprawling on his chest. The dream’s intensity had lifted but it left the cold sweat of fear behind. Will reached down to where their covers had slipped and pulled them up to his chin, nestling into the nook of Hannibal’s arm and the crook of his neck.

He thought back to that night on the beach as he sputtered seawater from his mouth. The look of love and fear in Hannibal’s eyes. Will had never seen Hannibal show fear before and that proof only further justified his actions. He had given them a new start. His first words to Hannibal when he came to himself again were, “we are monsters, you and I.”

Hannibal, kneeling over his body, held Will’s face in his hand. “Oh Will,” he whispered, lowering his head to Will’s. “We are all monsters of our own design.” His catchphrase _"this is my design"_ whispered in the back of Will’s mind.

And then they closed the final gap between them. Their lips touched and bound them together as sure as any marriage or contract. They chose each other. Lonely monsters no more.

Before Will let himself succumb to sleep once more he let his eyes glide over Hannibal’s sleep slackened face. Yes, they were monsters. But monsters can feel pain, love, loss and desire. They can feel loneliness and happiness and completeness. _We are monsters_ , he thought as he closed his eyes, _but never alone again_.


End file.
